


let me share with you (what the world has to offer)

by rosehale



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Norman Reedus - Fandom
Genre: 5 Things, F/M, Gen, I'm Sorry, norman reedus tho can i get a hell yeah, this got wildly out of control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 01:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5071894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosehale/pseuds/rosehale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five places you go with Norman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me share with you (what the world has to offer)

**Author's Note:**

> this is a writing style i'm kinda experimenting with, so apologies if it rubs you the wrong way.
> 
> all the love xx

**Georgia**

You live out in the forest, where the trees whisper and sunlight dapples, and I relish the escape from the city. I sit on the porch and read and drink ice tea and watch you fuck around with your motorbike until the back of your ratty punk t-shirt sticks to you with sweat and you surrender to the weather, retreating inside for the air conditioning and a cold beer. The screen door whines behind me as I follow you in, leaning on the doorjamb of the kitchen while you stand at the sink, gulping down a glass of water, and I swallow at the way your neck works, your face stained with smudged grease marks from where you've wiped away sweat. You grin when you see me, the glass ringing as you set it on the counter, my book hanging forgotten from my hand.

'Gotta shower before dinner, I'm gross,' you explain, and I wrinkle my nose.

'You're pretty gross all the time actually.'

You stick your tongue out like a child before nudging my shoulder with yours when you pass. You forget your strength for a moment, and I stumble back, the floorboards of the hallway creaking beneath me, and you're suddenly whipping around, a hand at my back, steadying, your forehead creased.

'Sorry, sorry. Okay?'

I can smell you this close, sweat and gasoline and grease, and I laugh, reaching to wrap my arms around your neck.

'You're just bigger than me, s'all.'

You hum in agreement, and press a chaste kiss to the corner of my mouth. I pout when you pull back.

'I smell,' you protest, but I shake my head, slip a hand up underneath your t-shirt to feel the tightening of your muscles at the sensation of my cool fingers. Your breath stutters in your chest.

'Doesn't matter, you always smell bad when we're in Georgia. Motorbike is better than zombie guts.'

**Tokyo**

It's winter. The city is shining and in its element as snow floats past our floor to ceiling hotel windows, illuminated in the night by the lit up buildings and advertisements and screens that never seem to turn off. It reminds me of your brain, always moving, always working, always thinking of some new idea that's better than the last. You sleep anywhere, anytime, given a blanket and quiet, but the jet lag is still determined to disrupt my sleep, and I'm content to sit in the ornate arm chair by the huge windows, watching the city pass by beneath us. Behind me, you slumber on in bed, a hazy reflection in the glass, a lump of boy with messy hair and covers pushed down around your waist. We're here for four days, and you have work crammed into every spare minute and then some, and I don't envy you. We've done this before, landing in a forgiven country with culture to spare, me returning every evening with stories and experiences and shopping, and you in a rumpled shirt and jumpy from too much coffee to make the day bearable as you sit through interview after interview. Your grace astounds me every time, the patience you display as you hold me tight beneath the sheets and 'ooh' and 'ahh' at my stories, make up needed for the cameras still sticky beneath my fingertips as I touch your face.

'One day,' you promise, 'One day we'll come back and we'll have so much time and no work.'

I smile and add this city to the list of ones to go back to, 'Okay. Deal.'

**London**

We rent a flat, settle in for the long run of your filming schedule, and I thank whoever’s listening for the millionth time that I'm able to send in work from across the world. It means we have weekends to explore, and in the mild English summer we hold hands in Hyde park and wander through dusty castles and I feel like a teenager again, so utterly in love my head spins with it. I wash your hair in the huge claw foot bath the flat comes with and dodge the bubbles to kiss your shoulder, your back pressed up to my chest, the warm water lapping around us.

'Thank you, for bringing me with you.'

You catch one of my hands, rinsing the shampoo from it before raising it to your mouth, kissing the palm before nipping at my thumb.

'Think I'd go mental without you.'

I make a 'pfft' sound, but you're suddenly serious, struggling to turn around in the tub to look me in the eye, squashing me back into the ceramic. You still have strawberry smelling bubbles in your hair.

''M not kidding. I'd just freak out if I was here on my own. I'm so glad you came.'

I kiss your nose, wipe a streak of shampoo away from where it drips dangerously close to your eye, 'I know, I am pretty great.'

**Berlin**

You hold me tight against the winter chill, your arms wrapped around my middle, chin resting on my shoulder, chest rising and falling against my back. The remains of the wall, covered with art, stands before us.

'I remember when it came down,' I announce.

'Yeah?'

'Yeah, Mom stayed up to watch it. She cried a bit. I didn't realize how important it was then. Too busy thinking about boys and homework.'

You laugh, kiss cold at my neck.

'Can't ever imagine you not being as world-wise as you are,' you say, and I shrug, our jackets rubbing together with the movement.

'There's a lot about me you couldn't imagine.'

'You wanna know what I'm imagining right now?' I look back to you with raised eyebrows.

'There's lacy underwear. You're there. And I'm -'

You 'oof' as my elbow meets your stomach. Hard.

'Have some respect, Jesus Christ.'

'Sorry, sorry.'

I roll my eyes, and turn back to the wall, smile at a young girl staring at you.

'Time to go?' You murmur, lips at my ear. 'Sure, I need some hot chocolate.'

'Pathetic.'

'Pathetic? I'll be laughing when your brain finally cuts out after one too many coffees.' You dismiss my concern with a snort, and we separate, turning back to the street, littered with warm, inviting cafes ready to be explored.

**New York**

All of the places we've been, and you belong here. With a snap back low over your brow, a take away coffee in your hand, you lead the route to the subway station with ease of doing it a hundred times before. I watch you with a smug smile, because, oh gosh, you're _mine_. There's no place better to be lovers than New York, rattling through the underground, wrapped around you as you grip onto the ceiling handle, whispering in my ear. You slip back into the city like an old friend, you know its secrets and its hiding places, and I follow you in with my hand held tight by yours.

You brush lazy fingers over my stomach as we lie in bed, watching the sun rise over the skyscrapers, kiss at my neck as we wait in line at the deli, push some hair behind my ear as we stand at a bar. You fit so perfectly it's almost blinding, and I feel like an intruder, interrupting your usual pattern.

'You are my pattern now,' you reassure, body hot above mine, eyebrows crooked with worry at my anxiety. You rest heavy on top of me, chest bare, collarbones shiny with sweat from the activities I've interrupted.

'I don't want to... change you,' I whisper, and you're so concerned it makes me ache.

'You're not changing me, just making me better. 'M evolving, not changing.'

The corner of my mouth turns up, 'Evolving? Like a lizard?'

'Yes, like a lizard.'

I snap my fingers, 'I knew it.'

Your next kiss is clumsy with laughter.


End file.
